


ADAGIO

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, AU, Ballet, F/M, Older man/ younger woman, Romance, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle Prompt, Slow Burn, age gap, dance, ouat AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: A Rumbelle AU in which Belle is a ballerina and Mr. Gold is the artistic director of the dance company for which she performs. What happens when he finds her practicing late at night?This was inspiredfrom a mood board prompt from the Tumblr A Monthly Rumbelling. . .
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	ADAGIO

The studio was silent but for the subtle rhythm of Belle’s pointe shoes on the hard wood floor.

The pianist had finished her day before supper, and it had been hours since the other dancers chucked slippers and leotards into dance bags and caught trains home. Even David, the handsome man dancing the part opposite Belle, had long since bowed out of the studio, as he yawned a half-hearted apology.

Belle was the sole occupant of the fifth floor of the New City Ballet Academy’s rehearsal space.

She didn’t need musical or physical accompaniment. The score swept lavishly through her imagination as she ran through her solo. At first she simply just marked timing and spacing, but then she threw herself into it and danced it full out. She quite relished her solitude, almost losing herself in it as she danced the piece again and again, trying to perfect an aspect of it that seemed just beyond her grasp.

While her mind refused to tire, her body had other plans. A painful cramp stabbed the arch of her foot in the middle of the petite adagio and she had to stop and stretch.

Begrudgingly, she unlaced her shoe, plucked her foot from it, then weaseled her foot out of the hole in the bottom of her tights. Hating to admit her fatigue, she massaged the pain and frowned. It was a stubborn cramp and did not want to release. She sat on the floor, did a series of splits, and then laid back to release her hip flexors, never stopping the pressure on her arch.

“Burning the midnight oil, I see,” the masculine voice was silky but alarming nonetheless. Belle jolted upright, still holding her foot.

“Oh, Mr. Gold! You startled me,” she said. The director of the New City Ballet had slipped into the practice space in complete silence. In his luxurious overcoat and violet, cashmere scarf, he looked headed for an evening on the town, although it was so late, he was almost undoubtedly just headed home.

“What are you doing here so late?” He sounded annoyed. Praying he’d not seen her mangled toes, Belle pulled her tights back over her foot and shoved it into her slipper. She hoped the lambswool she’d adjusted before would keep its place and protect her blisters.

“I’m practicing the adagio sequence,” Belle muttered as she wound the laces around her ankle.

“At this time of night?” He leaned on his cane and looked less annoyed and more incredulous.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I know it’s late. I’ll pack up and get out of here.” Belle sprang to her feet. She bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself not to stare, but found this mental directive more challenging than 32 _fouetees en pointe_. Gold’s trademark shaggy hair was carelessly handsome, and his wardrobe was immaculately fine. The aubergine shirt he wore looked like it cost as much as Belle’s monthly rent, and it matched his scarf perfectly.

“No no!” He smiled and his face was transformed from stern to welcoming. Belle instinctively mirrored his smile. “I’m impressed you’re such a devoted student. I’d never deprive a dancer of her practice space.” Belle thought he’d say goodnight and leave, but instead Gold walked to the piano. The soft tap of his cane against the floor reminded Belle of the noise her pointe shoes made. He put the cane on top of the piano and leaned against the shiny, black instrument. Belle’s eye caught on the ornate, gold top of the cane, and she wondered why it was he’d come to use it. His voice startled her again. “Well? Are you going to show me what you’ve managed?”

Having found her mouth suddenly and inexplicably dry, Belle made her way to the corner of the studio where she stashed her water bottle on top of a pile of sweaters and leg warmers she’d stripped off as she’d warmed up. She took a long swig to buy herself time and instantly regretted the hasty glance she stole of herself in the wall of mirrors. The bun she’d put her hair in 16 hours ago was starting to come undone, and tendrils of hair fell around her face. Sweat stained her blue leotard under her breasts and armpits. She brushed the hair off her face.

“Well, as you said, it’s late, Mr. Gold. You look like you’re headed out. Are you meeting someone special?” She mentally kicked herself as soon as the words passed her lips.

“Not at all. There is no one special waiting for me, unless my single malt, 25 year old Scotch counts,” he winked at her.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from that. I don’t think I’m really ready to perform, um, for you Mr. Gold. And anyway, there’s no music.”

“Nonsense,” Gold said. He shrugged off his charcoal gray overcoat and draped it on the piano over his cane. Then he unbuttoned his pinstriped suit jacket and pulled his phone out of a tailored inner pocket. He smiled at Belle again and poked at his phone. “There’s always music in this day and age, is there not, Dearie?” He flashed the phone’s screen at her to show her he’d brought up the piece of music. “All cued up and ready to go.”

Since Belle had been a first year dancer in the corps of the company, she’d heard girls titter and swoon over Mr. Gold’s Scottish brogue. She’d often blushed when overhearing the fantasies other ballerinas had about him, or what they would gladly do to him in the dark to get a prized role. Always the ‘good girl,’ Belle had never given those things much thought herself. She’d heard rumors that some girls actually did those things with Mr. Gold, but she’d never dared consider such a thing. She’d worked hard, focused, and through her own actual blood, sweat, and tears, she fought her way up the ranks to become a soloist.

Yet, when Gold called her 'dearie,' something happened inside of Belle. A dark, primal heat gathered in her stomach and swirled outward in languid waves.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine falling into his arms, and it was down right easy to imagine his lips on her throat as he kissed down toward her chest, his arms tight around her waist. It was perfectly simple all of a sudden to know just what it would feel like for him to pull her toward him, bend her back over his arm, and cover her mouth with his.

Of course Belle had heard him refer to other dancers as 'dearie,' and knew it was completely casual, but as warmth coiled and tightened in her abdomen, it did not feel so very innocent.

She licked her lips, wanting to hear him call her that again, and not wanting to be such a ‘good girl’.

She looked up at Gold as she flexed and circled her ankles, trying to disperse some of the heat to the rest of her muscle groups that were growing cold as she stood there. He didn’t look exactly unkind, but Belle clutched her water bottle and shivered anyway. “I’m waiting, Dearie. So, you can either dance for me, or you can tell me what you’re actually doing here so very late at night.”

“Mr. Gold,” Belle whispered and met his eyes. “I already told you. I’m practicing.” His stare was curious, relentless. Maybe she wasn’t there just practicing. Maybe she was there waiting for him, waiting for this very moment to show him just what she could do, to move her body in a manner that might have power to impress or please him.

She dropped her bottle back into the corner from whence it came and straightened herself. He’d not moved a muscle, nor averted his gaze. “Very well, start the music,” she said, hoping her voice sounded much bolder than she felt, and taking her place, left of center in the studio.

When the gentle chords began, Belle forget the company’ artistic director himself observed her, and her body took over. Using breath, she rose into the dance as if she herself were notes of music. Using weight, she sank to the depths of the piece and then leapt back up, spiraled across the floor and spun on her toes until she wove into herself tighter than a bud of spring flower that had yet to bloom. She stretched until her arms and legs felt they might separate from her own torso, held together only by music and the caramel of Gold’s gaze.

She realized just what had been missing from her performance; strangely, it had been him. Somehow, his audience gave her an authenticity she’d not yet felt in this particular piece.

At last she finished, heart pounding, arms crossed over her chest, toes beating the tightest _bourees_ she could manage against the floor. When the final strains of song ended, she dropped to her knees, arched her back and then fell forward into the last pose of the piece. She felt triumphant, as if she had drunk of the god’s own nectar.

“Not bad,” Gold said. The studio was silent but for his finger poking at the screen of his phone and Belle’s breath.

“Not bad?” Belle queried breathlessly, as she came round from her dance induced stupor and straightened.

“It was. . . not bad,” he repeated with a shrug and an amused expression.

“I think that might have been my best yet,” Belle panted, fearing she might start to cry from exhausted frustration, disappointment and anger.

“You seem. . . tired, Dearie,” Gold sighed. “Get some rest and you can work on it again later.”

“No, not later! Now. Give me notes, please. Tell me what I can do to make it better, and then I’ll do it again for you.”

“You can go home and sleep,” Gold said, more firmly. “As much as I love a private performance, what your body and soul want for now is respite.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket and reached for his coat. Belle rushed forward and put her hand on his arm to stop him from picking up his coat. He looked down at her hand on his arm and met her eyes. She immediately snatched her hand away and put it behind her back.

“Gold, please. You want to know what I’m doing here so late? I’m trying to prove myself. They all hate me for getting this role. Every other girl in the company despises me. They don’t think I deserve it and they want to know what I did to get it. They think- well, I won’t tell you what they think, but I’ve got to prove them wrong. I’ve got to show them I deserve this role, that I worked for it, that I didn’t. . .” she waved her hand in front of her and stopped talking. Suddenly exhausted, she plunked herself down on the piano bench.

“Oh, I well know what they think and what they say,” Gold chuckled.

“You do?”

“Of course,” he sniffed. “There’s not much that gets past me, Dearie.”

“And it doesn’t horrify you?”

“Quite the opposite, Belle, I find it infinitely flattering anyone would dare to dream a perfect, young vision like you would waste a moment on a wizened, old beast such as me. Although I can tell it horrifies you.”

If Belle felt warm when Gold called her “dearie,” she was nearly delirious now hearing her own name slide off of his tongue. “You’re not a beast,” she laughed. “Not by a long shot. And you’re hardly old.”

“Ahhh, old enough to be your father, anyway,” he sighed and tucked his hands away into his pockets. Belle couldn’t help but wonder what he would do with his hands if he touched her, how it would feel. What parts of her body would he want to explore with his own?

“Godfather, maybe, like Herr Drossylmeyer in the Nutcracker, but even that’s pushing it!”

Gold threw his head back and laughed at that, and Belle swelled with pride at the fact she’d made him laugh, even more so than she had when she’d felt she’d totally nailed her piece. “Do you like the Nutcracker, Belle? You’re far too old and talented now to dance Clara, but how about the Sugar Plum fairy? Would you like to be the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

“You’re joking,” Belle exhaled, but Gold shook his head.

“Wouldn’t that make me your favorite Godfather, then?” His eyebrows rose and he smiled impishly.

“More like a fairy godfather, I think,” Belle sighed and shook her head. “But I could never accept. I’m barely a second year soloist here. I’d never hear the end of it if you gave me Sugar Plum.”

“May I?” Gold gestured to the empty spot on the bench and when Belle nodded, he sat down next to her. “I wouldn’t be giving you anything, Belle,” he said and her toes curled in her pointe shoes at the smokey hum of his voice. “You’re here because you deserve it. You work harder than just about any other dancer I’ve ever seen and you don’t give in to the frivolities of some of the other girls here. I’ve watched you for years, and I can tell you honestly, no one is _ever_ going to give you _anything_. You are going to get these parts because you _deserve_ them. You will _own_ them. Understand?”

Nodding, Belle touched the center of her chest and whispered, “You’ve watched me? Me?”

“Well, yes. Sort of my job, Dearie,” Gold said. His thigh was so close to hers she felt his heat flow into her. The sudden urge to touch his leg struck her and made her heart beat double time. She took a deep breath to try to slow it, certain he could hear every thump. Lavender, lemon, and leather of his cologne filled her nose and made her head float. She grabbed her fingers and knotted them tightly in her lap to keep from reaching for him.

“But until tonight, I didn’t even think you knew my name, let alone think I was anything special.” Belle swallowed hard and clasped her hands together.

"Oh, you're special, Belle. You're very special."

“That can't be true."

"But it is."

"You don't understand. We all know you. You’re like a god to us. We’ve all had hopeless crushes on you since we were little girls. Do you know my mother took me to the ballet when I was very young, maybe only five years old. You were dancing the lead. I’ve never forgotten it. It’s what made me want to come here. To this theater. Every day I wake up and I still can't believe I've gotten in.”

“What a memory,” Gold said softly and his eyes seemed to trace the lines of Belle’s leotard from one shoulder to the other. “We are lucky to have you. I shall congratulate myself for so inspiring you at such an early age.”

“You were magnificent!”

“And now you partner with young David.”

“Oh, but I wish he were you! Every time we do our _pas de deux_ , I imagine I’m partnering with you-“ she stopped herself short and bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just, well, I’m not horrified.”

“What?”

“You said before I seemed horrified by the rumors, about us. I’m not.” Belle felt her cheeks blush furiously. Why couldn’t she stop talking? In another moment, she’d start blathering her thoughts about having stayed so late merely to have him find and watch her. “I’m sorry, I talk too much. Bad habit,” she said and bit her bottom lip.

“Ahhh, Belle,” Gold sighed and touched her chin so gently she had to wonder if it were truly happening. “Please don’t apologize. And please don’t bite your pretty lip like this,” he said and as he did, his thumb drifted over her lower lip, encouraging it to relax. “What you’ve said just now is perhaps the kindest, most precious thing anyone has said to me for decades. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and be young and strong enough to dance with you.” Gazing at her with a mix of wonder and sorrow, he grazed her cheek with his knuckles. Belle closed her eyes and leaned against his hand, spellbound by the honey of his words and the electricity of his touch.

Eyes still closed, she murmured, “And what would you dance with me?”

“An adagio, without a doubt, since you perform them so beautifully,” his voice grew lower, softer, and it felt closer, so close in fact, Belle could feel his breath on her face. She dared not open her eyes. “Yes, something slow, in which you could shine and my job would be just to support you, to sweep you off your feet, and hold you steady as you pirouette. Perhaps the Bedroom Pas de Deux from Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh,” Belle shivered and when she opened her eyes, Gold filled her entire frame of vision. The sparkling amber of his gaze practically blinded her.

“Would you like that?” He whispered and caressed her shoulders as if to warm her.

“Yes,” Belle nodded. “It’s a beautiful piece.”

“Indeed, it is,” Gold said.

“So, you think my adagios are slightly better than ‘not bad,’ then,” Belle teased.

“And don’t you know it with that mischievous smile crinkling up your little nose,” Gold teased in return and cupped Belle’s jaw in his hands. For a moment, Belle felt something savagely magnetic drawing them toward one another as if they might kiss. The tempo of the entire universe seemed slow and muffled as if it were all underwater, as if they were being carried along on a current toward something powerful and imminent. “ ‘See how she leans her cheek upon her hand, O that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek,’” Gold sighed. When Belle squinted at him in confusion, he clarified, “It’s a quote from Romeo and Juliet.”

“But you’re already touching my cheek,” Belle said.

“So I am, but perhaps I shouldn’t,” Gold dropped his hands back into his own lap. “And much like myself, this night is not getting any younger. If you don’t get some rest, you’ll be too tired for classes and rehearsals tomorrow.” He broke the spell. Belle pushed her lips out in a dissatisfied pout. “Now, now, you must not sulk, Dearie,” he chuckled and stood. She immediately felt so much colder for his absence.

“It’s been such a treat talking to you, like this.”

“Has it?”

“Of course! I wish tonight would never end.” Belle stood and winced as a muscle spasm shot through her hip. She hadn’t cooled down properly and would pay for it.

As if reading her mind, Gold said, “Looks like you need a proper stretch and a hot bath, Belle.”

“Well, you’re right about the stretching part, but my apartment only has a stupid stand-up shower,” Belle said as she massaged the area above her iliac crest. She started to the corner for her layers of warm clothes. “But it’s alright,” she tossed her words over her shoulder, trying to sound cheerful. “Nothing my microwave heat pack won’t fix.” She pulled leggings up over her tights, layered on her leg warmers, and wrapped her sweater around her. Though dancers are quite accustomed to dressing and undressing before all manner of people, strange and familiar, it felt somehow intimate to clothe herself in front of Gold.

“Oh, dear,” Gold shook his head. “No. That will not do at all. I cannot have my best dancer suffering silently with only a microwave heat pack.”

“It’s fine, really,” Belle beamed at the idea she was his ‘best dancer,’ although she imagined he was simply being indulgent.

“Would you like to come home and have a soak in my tub? It’s one of those large ones with the Jacuzzi jets and it’ll soothe every ache away in a matter of minutes. I had it installed for my leg and I swear it’s enchanted.” He made this offer with an almost bashful sincerity as he put on his coat and picked up his cane. And although it sounded completely innocent, Belle’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “My goodness, I’m so sorry,” he rebounded. “That must have sounded alarmingly presumptuous. I promise you, I did not mean anything untoward by it, Belle. Well, if you weren’t horrified before, I’m certain you are now.”

“I’m not!” Belle hurried to him and put her hand on his arm to stop him from rushing out of the studio. “It’s alright.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Of course.” She pulled her sweater tightly around her as her skin had suddenly gone all goose pimples as his eyes explored her face. Self consciousness and excitement churned in a bizarre mix in her.

“You’re a strange young woman, aren’t you? You’re different than the others.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it filled Belle’s mind with an orchestra of wonder.

“Am I?” She was desperate for him to touch her again, to find that mysterious current and jump back into it, let it drag her wherever it wanted.

“I believe so. No. I’m quite sure of it,” he smiled and took her hand. “You are so young, but you possess this raw power that is ageless, timeless, and so very precious.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, bowed slightly and said, “Goodnight, Dearie.”

Stunned, Belle watched him turn and start to walk from the studio. “Wait!” The shrillness of her cry embarrassed her but it had the desired effect of making Gold stop and turn back to her. “Please don’t leave, or at least, take me with you.”

With a slight nod, Gold said, “Go gather your things. I’ll have the car brought around front and meet you in the lobby.”

Belle stood frozen in the studio, listening to the soft tap of Gold’s cane as it faded down the hallway. The ding of the elevator from the corridor brought her back into herself with a whoosh. Heart racing, she ran to the dressing room to collect her things and change. She peeked in the mirror and pulled her hair out of the topknot, allowing it to fall in soft, amber waves around her shoulders. The current caught her and tugged her with increasing and insistent speed and she moved with it, her timing flawless, her spacing immaculate.


End file.
